Toesheldback
TMF Master
- Joined
- Sep 24, 2014
- Messages
- 997
- Points
- 18
I’ve told a couple true tales about my wife’s best friend Patty. Patty is absolutely explosive ticklish on her ribs/torso, but has told me and my wife that her feet aren’t ticklish. Last time Patty visited, she was on our couch/recliner and as I rose one night to retire to bed, I gave both her feet a tickle, maybe about three seconds from her heels to her toes, while she was wearing thin socks. At that time, Patty just stared at me, with zero reaction.
She and her husband just left. As you might have guessed, I’m a little obsessed with tickling Patty. She’s a brunette, about 5’3”, really fit, with maybe size 6 feet. Super high arches. She is in her mid-50s but takes really good care of herself and looks at least 10 years younger than that.
She and her husband (whom I’m really good friends with) were visiting for 3 days. Had a great time, but I’ll just get right to the important stuff..
The afternoon of the first day, hubby went to take a nap. His job can make for late hours, so he was understandably tired. My wife and Patty were standing in the hall, chatting, and as I walked in behind her, I shot my hands under Patty’s arms, and pinned her arms up, exposing her torso. “Get her!”, I playfully beckoned my wife. My wife know all about my obsession with tickling Patty, so she leaned over to get her head about belly height, and wiggled her fingers all over Patty’s belly and ribs, saying “tickle tickle tickle tickle” over and over. Patty immediately screamed and tried to drop to the floor to escape my wife’s fingers, but I held her up. “Stop! Ok! Stop!”, Patty yelled through her laughter. My wife kept tickling for maybe another 10 seconds as Patty pleaded and laughed. When she stopped tickling, I let Patty go, and Patty, still laughing playfully said, “You assholes! You know how ticklish my ribs are!” We all laughed.
The second night everyone was drinking wine, and Patty’s hubby and I had gone out to a pub together earlier that afternoon, and I was feeling no pain. My wife and Patty’s hubby had gone to bed, leaving a buzzed me chatting with a buzzed Patty, again reclined on the couch, wearing thin socks.
“Should I go in and do a tickle attack on her”, meaning my wife. Patty said, “She will kill you. I wouldn’t”. Summoning my courage, I said , “I can’t believe how ticklish your ribs are and you say you’re feet aren’t at all.” Patty said, smiling, “You and your tickling fetish. No, my feet aren’t ticklish.” Her socked feet were just a few feet away, and Patty made no effort to move them.
I got up and tickled both of her soles like before, heels to toes. She just sat there, smiling at me. No doubt, emboldened by the trip to the pub and the wine, I realized that this was my moment. I picked up Patty’s socked right foot and spun around so that my back was to her, tucked her ankle under right arm, and went to town on her socked sole. After maybe 15 seconds, I turned around to look at her, still tickling, and she was just looking at me, slowly shaking her head.
“It’s these socks!”, I declared. Throwing all remnants of restraint to the wind, I ripped off her sock, and FINALLY went to town on her bare sole. It was so soft, I remember being amazed. “No!!”, Patty yelled, but I was not to be denied. I was tickling her sole and toes as furiously as I could, knowing that this would be over soon, one way or another!
“OK! OK! Stop!”, Patty implored. She tried mightily to pull her foot away, and planted her other foot on my back to get leverage. I held fast, still tickling. Finally, I heard laughter. I turned around, and Patty was laughing as her face exerted the effort of trying to free her foot. I tickled for maybe another 10 seconds, but she is strong, and I didn’t want to injure either her or me, so I let her go.
Catching her breath, Patty said, “There, are you satisfied now?” I didn’t detect any anger in her tone at all. And truthfully, I was. Extremely satisfied. Patty said, “OK, now put my sock back on. My feet get cold.” I faced her, and pretended I was struggling to get her tight sock back on, but really I just wanted to go slow to enjoy the sight of her ticklish sole. I was rock hard, and I could swear her eyes flicked down from her foot to my crotch. But I’ll never know and will never ask.
I got her sock back on, dropped her foot, and picked up her nearly empty wine glass to re-fill it (and mine).
We stayed up for another hour, drinking and chatting, but honestly I don’t remember what about. The next morning, as I was making everyone breakfast, Patty told my wife, “I saved you from a tickle attack last night.” My wife said, probably truthfully, “I would have kicked him in the balls!” Patty laughed and said, “He was all about questions and answers last night!” I have no idea what we talked about late that night, but I’m pretty certain the “T” word came up in that conversation.
Like I said, they departed a while ago, and there was nothing but love between the four of us. It was a fun weekend.
She and her husband just left. As you might have guessed, I’m a little obsessed with tickling Patty. She’s a brunette, about 5’3”, really fit, with maybe size 6 feet. Super high arches. She is in her mid-50s but takes really good care of herself and looks at least 10 years younger than that.
She and her husband (whom I’m really good friends with) were visiting for 3 days. Had a great time, but I’ll just get right to the important stuff..
The afternoon of the first day, hubby went to take a nap. His job can make for late hours, so he was understandably tired. My wife and Patty were standing in the hall, chatting, and as I walked in behind her, I shot my hands under Patty’s arms, and pinned her arms up, exposing her torso. “Get her!”, I playfully beckoned my wife. My wife know all about my obsession with tickling Patty, so she leaned over to get her head about belly height, and wiggled her fingers all over Patty’s belly and ribs, saying “tickle tickle tickle tickle” over and over. Patty immediately screamed and tried to drop to the floor to escape my wife’s fingers, but I held her up. “Stop! Ok! Stop!”, Patty yelled through her laughter. My wife kept tickling for maybe another 10 seconds as Patty pleaded and laughed. When she stopped tickling, I let Patty go, and Patty, still laughing playfully said, “You assholes! You know how ticklish my ribs are!” We all laughed.
The second night everyone was drinking wine, and Patty’s hubby and I had gone out to a pub together earlier that afternoon, and I was feeling no pain. My wife and Patty’s hubby had gone to bed, leaving a buzzed me chatting with a buzzed Patty, again reclined on the couch, wearing thin socks.
“Should I go in and do a tickle attack on her”, meaning my wife. Patty said, “She will kill you. I wouldn’t”. Summoning my courage, I said , “I can’t believe how ticklish your ribs are and you say you’re feet aren’t at all.” Patty said, smiling, “You and your tickling fetish. No, my feet aren’t ticklish.” Her socked feet were just a few feet away, and Patty made no effort to move them.
I got up and tickled both of her soles like before, heels to toes. She just sat there, smiling at me. No doubt, emboldened by the trip to the pub and the wine, I realized that this was my moment. I picked up Patty’s socked right foot and spun around so that my back was to her, tucked her ankle under right arm, and went to town on her socked sole. After maybe 15 seconds, I turned around to look at her, still tickling, and she was just looking at me, slowly shaking her head.
“It’s these socks!”, I declared. Throwing all remnants of restraint to the wind, I ripped off her sock, and FINALLY went to town on her bare sole. It was so soft, I remember being amazed. “No!!”, Patty yelled, but I was not to be denied. I was tickling her sole and toes as furiously as I could, knowing that this would be over soon, one way or another!
“OK! OK! Stop!”, Patty implored. She tried mightily to pull her foot away, and planted her other foot on my back to get leverage. I held fast, still tickling. Finally, I heard laughter. I turned around, and Patty was laughing as her face exerted the effort of trying to free her foot. I tickled for maybe another 10 seconds, but she is strong, and I didn’t want to injure either her or me, so I let her go.
Catching her breath, Patty said, “There, are you satisfied now?” I didn’t detect any anger in her tone at all. And truthfully, I was. Extremely satisfied. Patty said, “OK, now put my sock back on. My feet get cold.” I faced her, and pretended I was struggling to get her tight sock back on, but really I just wanted to go slow to enjoy the sight of her ticklish sole. I was rock hard, and I could swear her eyes flicked down from her foot to my crotch. But I’ll never know and will never ask.
I got her sock back on, dropped her foot, and picked up her nearly empty wine glass to re-fill it (and mine).
We stayed up for another hour, drinking and chatting, but honestly I don’t remember what about. The next morning, as I was making everyone breakfast, Patty told my wife, “I saved you from a tickle attack last night.” My wife said, probably truthfully, “I would have kicked him in the balls!” Patty laughed and said, “He was all about questions and answers last night!” I have no idea what we talked about late that night, but I’m pretty certain the “T” word came up in that conversation.
Like I said, they departed a while ago, and there was nothing but love between the four of us. It was a fun weekend.
Thanks for sharing your experience here. 
